


Time Frame

by FreshBrains



Series: Femslashficlets Mini Fics [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Community: femslashficlets, Creepy Hannibal, F/F, Missing Scene, POV Alana Bloom, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5097056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says, eyes flicking to Alana’s abdomen.</p>
<p>Alana straightens her back, inhaling sharply through her nose. “Late by three days. Nothing gets past you, Hannibal.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Frame

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW Femslashficlet's prompt #021: Late.

Hannibal ticks his head forward, nostrils slightly flaring, the motion imperceptible to the untrained eye. But Alana’s eye is trained to him better than anyone’s, so she stands in front of the glass and arches an eyebrow until he speaks.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says, eyes flicking to Alana’s abdomen.

Alana straightens her back, inhaling sharply through her nose. “Late by three days. Nothing gets past you, Hannibal.”

“I would’ve guessed no more than two,” Hannibal says airily, fingers laced in front of his body. “I must be losing my touch.” One corner of his mouth curves upwards. “I hope I didn’t spoil the surprise.”

_I’m actually five days late, and I took the test yesterday_ , Alana thinks. She wants to be angry. She _needs_ to be angry; her body craves it, the ache in her hips craves it. But her mind keeps settling on the image of Margot at the breakfast table, newspaper spread out before, French toast uneaten on her plate, just starting the positive pregnancy test, just _staring_ , like it could simply disappear, just like every good thing in her life before Alana. “Hardly a surprise, but thank you either way.” She nods to the orderly and turns to leave.

“I’ll miss it,” Hannibal says. Alana doesn’t turn around. “The smell of your menstrual cycle. All nine months.”

The thought sends a repulsed shudder down Alana’s spine. Hannibal is many things, but vulgar is hardly one of them—it’s reserved for moments of deep resentment, for moments he believes he’s been wronged beyond reconciliation. And that is enough to make Alana smile. _He wants this,_ she thinks. She knows it isn’t familial or sentimental—it’s proprietary above all else. But she has something she’s wanted for so long, and he has _nothing_ , and that’s a delicious thought.

Alana will kiss Margot when she gets home, tug her down onto the bed, let buttons and beads clatter to the floor.

“I’m sure you’ll cope,” she says, and once the locks click behind her, she can finally breathe. She presses her hands to her stomach—there’s nothing to feel yet, of course, and there won’t be for a long time. When she gets home, she’s throwing away her boxes of tampons and pads, her Midol, her bloodstained lingerie. She’ll kiss Margot and kick off her heels.

She’ll start again, fresh and new and brimming with life.


End file.
